


So They Met On The Corner of Madison and Fifth

by lechatnoir



Series: Spiraling Blues and Old Cobblestone Hues [1]
Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: 1920s, AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Prohibition Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:09:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 22,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lechatnoir/pseuds/lechatnoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1920s AU, where Pitch is the owner of a Speakeasy and Tooth is his business partner /partner in crime. She dazzles them all and he works with smuggling the goods and escaping the law. She just wants to find somewhere to be free .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Empty Bottles and Scarlet Ties

I.  
Things were simple between them - he owned the place and she could charm a crowd, keep all eyes on herself while he worked with the shadows and smuggled the goods in, leaving no trace behind that someone had been there.

(It was like they were ghosts)

ii.  
She doesn't remember a family- she remembers sihlouettes and a brightly colored necklace that her mother wore, sometime long ago when war was something that they had never known before. She remembers the roar of the planes and bombs falling,but that was back when things didn't matter because the bombs fell in England and she was in New York, wrapped up in the lights and sounds of a place that never stood still for too long.

(A hummingbird beats its wings anywhere from 12 to 80 times per second)

iii.  
He vaguely remembers a cameo locket and a girl with brown curls and a voice that would call him 'Papa' and he'd spin her round and round as if she was the queen of the world.

(And she was, to him anyway)

He remembers the warzone and the bodies that he would crawl under, fallen brothers and comrade -in -arms. He remembers trying to keep his eyes open, trying to recall her face- his little girl with her crown of curls with lillies amd daisies in her hair - but he couldn't.

He remembers fear, and a blackness that swallows him up.

(When he returns, his home is ripped apart, torn to shreds. His little girl lies on top of a pile of rubble, the rats have eaten away at most of her pretty face yet she lay there, calm and serene and like a princess, on top of the world).

He remembers screaming and screaming until his voice grows hoarse and he buries the girl whose name he can't recall anymore.

iv.  
Slowly he makes his way over to New York, starts over with his eyes a dazzling gold and skin as ashen as burnt paper, thin and wire-like and it's as if he's death incarnate.

(He buries himself up in an old studio up in SoHo, where the scum of the city make their home there and he was just another stranger who had his own quirks and habits and no one really gave a damn about his existence)

It's 1927, and he smuggles a bottle into his studio, drinks it whole and thinks about his nightmares.

(He needs more alcohol to keep his sanity, but perhaps he never had any to begin with )

v.

When they first meet, it's raining and they end up at the corner of 5th ave and Madison and they don't quite know why they meet, but she forgets her umbrella at home and he stumbles into her, clad in black and grey and it's as if he hasn't been sleeping for days on end and she happens to sprawl haphazardly on him but he looks at her and sees a multitude of feathers and colors and a smile that's warm and cold at the same time.

They don't like each other from the first glance but he has a bit of a gentlemen's code of conduct and she's a lady - short dress and feather boa aside, cigarette smoke follows her around like a dog but it suits her, maybe- so he offers her his arm and umbrella and tells her he can escort her home.

He ends up getting slapped in the face and spit on but he's curious now and wonders if she needs a job, judging from the amount of unnecessary shawls and scarves she's wearing.

So he asks, and she replies with a stubborn 'yes' and he gives her an address and that's the end of that.

(He doesn't expect her to come , being a stranger and all so he's oddly surprised when she strolls into his little speakeasy - a bookshop at first glance but there's a certain bookcase that slides over and of course there are stairs that lead down to what you could only call a lair but never the less he dealt with the alcohol and got paid the big bucks and no one asked any questions.)

He asks her for a name - doesn't have to be real, he says- considering the fact that he didn't know who he was himself - and she gives him a name, just five letters, like his own.

'Tooth'  
'Pitch'

And so they met on the corner of 5th and Madison, on a day it was raining and the crows were singing.


	2. Molten Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't realize when they fall into a routine and the rain falls as he watches from his shop window

I.  
They were an odd duo - he was everything dark and dreary and she was a veiled mystery, dancing away at the sound of the jazz music that filled her to the brim with a sense of joy and belonging.

(She was colors and spices and a force that never stopped moving)

It's odd that they had worked so well together but she had a knack for remembering the specifics and insignificant details that he oftentimes overlooked, and he had enough money from his smuggling business to keep her prim and proper when in fact she couldn't care for the fancy dresses and jewelry that he had bought for her.

(He tells himself that it's for appearances sake, for their little businesss investment to grow and grow, rather than to have an excuse to see her again, see how the colors gleamed and glowed and how every single movement of hers was alive with a certain vibrancy and life.)

Both of them don't realize when their partnership and mutual dislike for one another morphs into a banter that takes up most of their mornings together - she'll greet him with a puff of cigarette smoke to the face and he'll slide her a cup of what he calls coffee and she scoffs but takes a sip anyway, liquid almost gold and molten as it slides down her throat.

(Molten like his eyes, but that can't be right because he's ghastly to look at and everyone has some sort of fear when talking with him, as if he can see their souls and can spin a web of lies and fear to get them to do whatever it is that he wanted from them - yet she sees a flicker of warmth and something like a smile in his eyes)

Somewhere down the line, he finds himself looking forward to her morning reports and cigarette smoke that feels almost like a kiss.

ii.

Sometimes they'd get stuck late at night at his bookshop, pouring over notes and maps, sketches and lists of what's in demand and where to get it scattered everywhere and sometimes when he's had a bit too much to drink he thinks of them as feathers and at that point he's slumped in his chair, eyes barely open as the ink became blurred and uncomprehendable.

He doesn't realize that he has a quilt draped over him until he wakes up the next morning, bones creaking and groaning as he slithers out from the chair, eyes groggy and it's only 6 a.m. and he isn't fully awake just yet.

There's a note on the table that's written in her hand, all swirls and slanted - 

'Went out to get some coffee, be back in five' - T. 

He runs a hand through his hair and laughs, because she doesn't owe him anything and yet it's as if she's slowly warming up to him.

It starts to snow outside and he watches from his window, hears the bell jingle when the shop's door opens and she walks in, all bundled up and quick tempered because she never really liked the snow- she had preferred the warmer climates and hot days of summer, not the cold winds and chills of the winter .

"Ah, thanks for the milk. You didn't have to , Tooth." The words feel like sandpaper against his throat but the smile that she gives him is well worth it. 

Suddenly he feels like a schoolboy - all shy and uneasy and fumbling with his hands because he's mostly kept to himself all these years and he tries not to remember a little girl on top of what they called their home - eyes wide with wonder and dead dead dead to the world.

She gives him a nod and a silver of a smile and gets ready for the show that night.

It was a cabaret with masks, and they had a big cargo to smuggle underneath the cops' noses.

They had to be perfect.

There were no such things as mistakes in Pitch's book.

(They were simply not allowed and Tooth knew that)


	3. Masks and Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don' t quite know where to start and the fog blocks their thoughts as they stumble through the woods.

It was a simple plan really - there's always a fancy dinner party for anyone and everyone with money at this time of the year - it's the holiday season after all, why not spend some money on frivilous things that no one needs instead of trying to end the depression that was eating away at the people- and so the plan was as follows :

To infiltrate the dinner , find out information as to whose who and who has their eyes on a certain road, or whose trying to smother out the speakeasys and hightailing the police onto everyone's arse, getting out undetected and figuring out when and where they should meet with their dealer to get the goods and sell it fast.

Seemed simple enough.

I.  
At half past eight he is closing up the bookshop and teaching himself how to wear the masks that he has perfected over the years again.

His hands are nimble , silent shadows that brush against the spines of the books almost lovingly - _like a gentle caress_ \- as he idly does something to occupy his mind while the clocks tick away and make his patience run thin and he wonders if he has any sanity left in himself.

(It's not the first time that he's gone off on a trip to smuggle in the new shipment, but it's the first time he'll have someone accompany him and that will be sure to draw some whispers and glances so he worries just a bit but doesn't admit that to himself because why would he - Pitch Black - be afraid? )

He laughs, and wonders what will happen to him and thinks that he needs a drink - as if he is a general of an army heading off to fight one last battle before falling in his own glorious attempt at achieving victory - if he is to survive this whole ordeal with his mind still relatively intact.

ii.

It's not the first time she's been swamped with the decision of what to wear and how to act - she's been a actress since she came to New York , all smiles and batting her lashes to get as much dough as she could - and yet she stands in the middle of her small apartment and her hands are shaking - _why is she nervous?_ \- and for a moment she wonders if she even knows what she's doing or if she has lost her mind and is trying to destroy herself .

(She lights a cigarette and decides to wear the wine colored dress with the gold lace embroidered on it, delicate and resolute and the dress flows and fits her in all the right places and it's as if she's in a suit of armor heading off to wage a war against a trickster enemy of enigmas and riddles) 

iii.

They had agreed to meet on their corner of Madison and 5th at eight o'clock sharp.

There was a quiet hum as the city was slowly lulled to sleep, the cars moving slowly and a certain air of nostalgia hung from the fog filled streets and cushioned skyscrapers.

(Perhaps that was their nerves getting the better of them or perhaps it was because there was something that changed inside of them )

He was running late , cursing and muttering because he got too caught up in rereading their notes that they had pieced together and didn't realize the time - rushed out of his shop with an umbrella in hand and had almost gotten himself run over in his haste of getting to their appointed meeting spot.

She had gone through three cigarettes in the span of them agreeing what time and where to meet up back when he had told her to leave a little bit earlier because he'd close up soon and it wouldn't take him that long to get changed and she might as well go already and her actually arriving there.

Cigarette smoke and the ever present dampness of the fog enveloped her in a comforting embrace as she waited, her mood slowly starting to sour as the minutes ticked on by.

She came close to leaving - she had turned away from the corner and was about to wait for the light to change so that she could cross the street and leave this 'life' behind and yet, she didn't. 

Rather, she couldn't because she heard the familiar voice of her employer/partner/whatever scmuck you want to call him - call out her name and almost barreled into her, all windswept and damp and eyes that glittered like gold on ashes.

"Tooth! Terribly sorry I'm late, you know how those damned locks are, never working until you've properly bashed their heads in."

He had laughed -nervous, as if he was a little kid about to get yelled at by his mother for stealing a cookie from the cookir jar - and had shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

She had noticed what a wreck and a mess he was before he even opens his mouth and she simply nods and moves closer - her hands are steady now - hands quick and fast, zipping like a bird as she fixes his bowtie and smoothes out his pants and jacket while his voice slowly falters and becomes quiet as he watches her hands move and he's enticed.

(It's not like he hasn't seen her work with her hands before, or, her smiling at the patrons of his little shop and zipping around the shelves on the rolling ladder as she finds the books that have been requested and only she can be as fast and effeciant as she is )

"You're not going to be able to do anything if they think that you're a slob, Pitch."

He nods and swallows because she's right and he doesn't want to talk right now because he doesn't know how or where to start and he wonders, if she plans on destroying him because she seems to be doing quite the sufficient job of rendering him speechless without even trying to do so and he marvels at the thought of her getting to spend the time with him even if it is for a farce and she's only in it for the money.

"Right, sorry, you look lovely by the way, Tooth. 50/50 we split the earnings, just like how we agreed on back in the shop." Pitch says, smooth and collected and it's another mask on his face because he can 't trust his nerves any more.

She smiles and takes the arm that he offers her and there's a smile in her words and he feels something burning down his throat as she speaks, the hum of the city dancing around them and bringing them closer to each other as the streets got narrower the further they walked on towards their destination.

"You look quite charming yourself, Pitch. Now, let's get this show on the road !!"

There is a jump to her step as she moves down the street, all cigarette smoke and dampened fog to follow her just like the man whose hand finds hers and they put on their masks of love .

The show begins once the clock strikes twelve.

(Perhaps our actors are ready ?)


	4. Foxtrot Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a wonder they haven't crashed and burned yet but the orchestra plays and they dance the fear away up to the stars.

I.

By the time they've both had their fourth glass of alcohol ( _"It's more like a concoction of death"_ Pitch mutters under his breath while glancing at Tooth who is not too far away, chatting pleasantly with one of the rich idiots who don't know a bottle of good brandy from a bottle of piss if their taste was anything to go by) - they're both a bit lightheaded in the head but the show must go on and the orchestra starts up again, a foxtrot hymn to take the stiffening deadweight air away from the place - after all it was the 1920s.

He makes his way over to where she is, a concoction of gold and color and he thinks that she looks quite ravishing but then again he's a bit drunk so he really can't make a clear headed judgement at the moment and perhaps he's perfectly,alright with that. 

Wrapping his arm around her waist feels like the natural thing to do - they have a act to play, after all - and she tilts her head , delicate and fierce and he wonders what her lips would taste like - she smiles and her eyes are the color of violets and magnolias and she's quite adapt at stealing his breath away and he must look like the part of a lovesick fool with his girl at his side and perhaps he'll let his mind drift to the possibility and he laughs a little to himself before taking a sip of his drink, placing it down on the red tablecloth covered table and listened to the band play, a foxtrot and then the charleston and a slow waltz all mixed into something odd and out of place but he has some courage inside of him for the moment and he trains his voice to be as soft as velvet when he speaks five words to her - five like the five letters in his name and her name as well .

"Would you like to dance, Tooth?"

He gets a cheeky smile and a drunken curtsey from her before they're off, a little off their game and drunk to boot but they're grinning like lunatics and perhaps things aren't as bad as he might think.

ii.

It's the sound of beads and sequins chattering away with the air and the music that flows through the bar, smoke and blush and the scent of roses dyed in paint floated through the air as they danced, a whirlwind of drunken steps and wobbling chins that only erupted in bursts of laughter that seemed to flood the room in a matter of seconds.

iii.

She doesn't really know what she's doing, not a bit - a carefully placed hand here, head poised delicately and almost innocently as she rolls sweet nothings and vapid ideas off of her tongue to the pig whose waistcoat and pants seem to barely fit him, buttons about to pop and she thinks about his cigar tinged breath and how atrocious it is and where the hell was Pitch because at this rate she might drink herself to death in order to survive the night.

She feels a arm wrap itself around her waist and she is about to whirl around and punch whoever thinks that she's just a gal for some easy cherry picking before she hears a familiar laugh and the ever present scent of sandelwood and lilacs and a tinge of fear.

(At this point she's a bit drunk and would like to sleep, thank you very much)

He asks her to dance and it's as if he was a knight in shining armor coming to save her from potential death (not like she technically needs any saving, she can handle herself, thanks) and she thinks she can kiss him just for that and wait - where did that thought come from?

iv.

When the band starts playing again, they are a hurricane of colors and greys and somehow find themselves at the center of everyone's attention and isn't that odd ?

They move as one, muscle memory taking over as they do the foxtrot, step step and turn.

They take a breath as the tempo changes, faster and faster and it's a dance that's roaring like the times that they live in and it's as if it's a war between two old enemies, painting a picture with harsh stares, prickly words that dart out like vipers in the night, and the smell of alcohol on lips that are far too close and yet out of reach, and they wonder who will break first.

v.

They end the dance with a bow and a secret smile and think that perhaps they should do more things like this more often. 

"Well?"   
Tooth's hand is on Pitch's arm as they walk to the bar and sit down, the comforting hum of the noise fades into the background and it's as if they are alone in a little corner of a special world that their alcohol induced minds seem to like and they relax a little.

He doesn't notice her leaning forward and tilting her head up, or her hand that snakes up and buries itself in his hair until it's a bit too late and his mind seems to short circuit a bit before he realizes that she's talking to him, words low and clear but to everyone else it's as if they're just like any other young, lovesick couple and part of him wants to recoil and tear her hands away from him because he is revolting and disgusting and she is vibrant and jovial and a bit dangerous and she would never want him anyway and yet he can't really focus on her words because her breath is tickling his lips and it's all quite nice that they haven't been found out yet and that their plan was going smoothly but he was drunk and not his usual composed self and he asks a stupid question that he knows she'll probably beat him with the chair that she is sitting on but he can't stop the words that come out of his mouth.

"Hey, Tooth, can you please shut up so I can kiss you?"


	5. Spinning Wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are runaway dances and cobblestones singing the blues

I.

When he asks - _commands_ her to shut up so that he could kiss her, she has half a mind to spit in his face, while the other half thinks of punching him in the stomach and clearly he wasn't listening to a word that she had said because he was starting at her like he - like he _liked_ her and that was the red warning bells going off in her head because why would Mr. Tall, Dark and Dreary like _her_ ?

Aside from the fact that she had been telling him that someone had sold him out and the cops were on their way and that they should really get going now or else they'll spend the next few weeks in a jail cell and she would not like that to happen to her _again_ so he should kindly shut _up_ and get a move on.

Except that would be too complicated to explain to a owne drunk Pitch Black so instead she flashes him a smile before punching him in the face and he stumbles off of his chair, hissing and spatting like an enraged cat.

What happens next is a domino effect of drunken uppercuts and swings to the face as the place gets wild and no one notices the two of them slip out the back door , silent as shadows.

ii.

"You couldn't have spared me a little warning before deciding to clobber me to death, Tooth?"

"You weren't listening to a word that I was saying now were you? Because I was sure I said that someone had sold you out to the police so now we'd better leave but I guess you were preoccupied with other things and now your precious porcelain face hurts? Not my problem!"

He sputters before rubbing his cheek that was already starting to bruise and he figures that it won't be pretty once morning comes anyhow so there really isn't anything to do except well, _run_.  
They hear the distant wail of sirens and start to run, Tooth's heels clicking against the cobblestone street like a death march .

"By the way, one hit isn't clobbering you to death , but if the police catch you, that's a different story , Pitch."

"You might want to do less talking and more walking, Toothy"

"Oh shut up you packrat."

"I am _not_ a packrat!"

"Uh huh, keep dreaming."

iii.

He knows these streets like the back of his hand, somewhat. He knows that they're in Downtown Manhattan and that there's a ton of abandoned buildings and druggies and bums that seem to pour out of them and they seem to have taken a wrong turn somewhere because this wasn't where they were suppose to end up and it was nasty in these parts, what with the gangs and turf wars that went on around here.

It was just their luck that no one was around to see them slip into a alleyway as the sound of gunfire rang through the night and the siren's neverending wail seemed to follow like a dog chasing a bone.

It was a tight squeeze but they made it work. They were pressed flush against each other but they figured that they could look like any old couple of lovestruck fools and if it meant that they got out of getting caught by the police then who were they to complain?

(Although Tooth had to recite the entire encyclopia on teeth that she read and Pitch had to think about getting punched in the face by his partner to avoid any _funny_ business.

They didn't hear the sound of someone running and breathing heavily until their little hiding spot had been invaded by a youth with white hair and blue eyes, with ratty clothes and a chipper, perky grin on his face.

"You folks lost? There's a motel nearby if you need a place or something."

iv.

For a kid that was running around the streets he had a certain kind of charm to him, at least, in Tooth's books.

That is until he started talking about motels, then she wanted to punch him in the face. 


	6. Stone Drops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hushed talks and screaming sirens with a touch of fear and ice.

I.

So maybe wanting to punch the kid in the face was a bit of a rash idea on her part, but she was also a bit intoxicated so her head wasn't functioning properly, hasn't been since they arrived at the party and she had taken her first sip of the alcoholic concoction that she was sure it was brewed in some outhouse in Louisiana because she wanted to _gag_ and spew the content of her stomach out on the fat monopoly man who was talking her to death but that would have upset their entire plan anyway and that was a no - go on her part, not when they had made a deal.

(So she switched masks with each and every sip that she took and maybe she slipped somewhere or left a weak spot out in the open where she couldn't quite see but the pig certainly _did_ and perhaps he wasn't as dimwitted as she thought he was, because he grinned and leered at her, gradually making small talks about how lovely she was , but then he had started talking about how such an _exquisite little bird_ had flown into this little hole. He had asked how much she charged and she almost decided to pull out the small ivory - handle dagger that she carried on her and teach him _exactly_ what this _little bird_ could do, except at that, point she realized that they had been sold out and that they needed to get out, and _fast_ )

She was thinking clearly, however , when she thought about kissing Pitch for well, saving her. It was an odd idea and she doesn't know how it got into her mind but she puts that thought aside for now and she thinks that they have some sort of shot of escaping and maybe they do - so instead she gives the kid a pointed glare and finds her voice again - slips on another mask - and her voice is sharp against the sound of harsh breaths in the confine of the alleyway walls.

"We don't need a motel kid, we need a trail to shake the cops off of us."

ii.

He smiles at the pair who clash against each other like day and night and he figures there's _some_ sort of shady business going on (not like that's something new, just that they never really got any fresh meat in these corners) and he grins at the prospect of stirring up some fun, as he'd liked to call it. 

(The cops called it vandelism but it's not his fault if people just leave their things unattended and he just fixed them up a bit with his slingshots and used whatever he could for target practice , and it's not like he'll get caught - and it makes him giddy with _glee_ because he's a phantom poltergist and no one can stop him when the night comes creeping and the snow starts falling on the city that he calls his home)

With a flourish, he grins and leans on a stick that he's gotten accustomed to, what with that one time he got shot in the leg and it took Bunnymund a good few hours to get the stupid bullet out of him because it wasn't a clean shot - before grinning at them both and bows down in a bit of mockery and maybe a little respect.

(He feels Pitch's eyes on him and it's as if he's being watched by a Hellhound, poised and ready to rip him to shreds just by his nightmares and words that leave him hollow and dead inside, and he can't shake off the slight onslaught of goosebumps that crawl up his arms as the man's mouth curls into a slow smile - and Jack feels like throwing up, because that smile is like the very same one that murderers use before torturing their victims and listening to their sobs and pleas for help slowly drain out of them minute by minute.)

He offers them a shaky grin and has to blink twice as Tooth elbows Pitch in the chest and the man hisses like a cat before grudgingly shutting up when told to do so by Tooth because he was frightening the boy and that wouldn't get them anywhere except jail if they didn't hurry it on up.

"Jack Overland Frost, at your service."

iii.

"That is probably one of _the_ most _tackiest_ names that I have _ever_ heard of" Pitch drawled, finally regaining his voice while basking in the familiar warmth of the shadows.

(No, that certainly was _not_ from having Tooth pressed up against him (although that felt nice, he'd have to admit), and he could feel her heart race like a hummingbird and he felt that at any second it would jump out of her chest and he'd have to deal with a deadweight body and that would certainly be _splendid_ )

He manages to squeeze out of their little corner, moving like a cat as he watched the boy with something like curiousity before it clicked in his head and he wondered how he didn't see it before - Tooth aways had a little blue and white pouch to hold her cigarettes and lighter , and it always vaguely smelt like mint, and this boy had the same pouch and smelt like mint.

( Surely he wasn't losing his touch?)

"You know each other, don't you?"


	7. Weary Souls and Silent Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's the kisses of the streetlights and the shedding of masks or maybe it's just wishful thinking and too much alcohol in their systems as they run through the night and the police chase them down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so terribly sorry for neglecting this little baby of a fic for so long ;A;! School got in the way asdfajls.

i.  
The pair of grins that he got in response were more than enough to make him roll his eyes at how _childish_ they were being because all of a sudden it clicked in _their_ heads that yes it was alright to finally go forth and reveal their little secret plan of knowing each other (that really wasn't secret at all, not really). 

Tooth answers first, a giddy grin on her face as she drapes an arm around Jack's shoulders and leans on him a bit, and it takes Pitch a bit of practiced craftsmanship not to growl or do something stupid that would read as _"Hello, I'm Pitch Black, con-artist and smuggler extraordinaire and there's a possibility that I may or may not like you as more than just a witty gal who has been my partner in crime for quite some time now and I would like it if that boy would just go on and step away, thanks."_ \- because really, that'd be a insult to his pride if he was to show what little weaknesses he had. 

(He calls them wrinkles in his suit, but Tooth knows better and rolls her eyes at him instead.) 

"Contrary to your own belief, I do know people outside of your shop, Pitch. Jack and I met when I first came to New York and he helped me out a few times. He's actually quite good at getting around the city and knows a few people who can help if we asked them nicely and paid up front, if you're wondering." Tooth flashes him a grin as she stumbles a bit and laughs because the liquor seems to be getting to her head more and more and Jack just chuckles in response as he holds her up - "Easy easy Tooth! You know you could out drink me anytime but jeeze, what the hell did you have that you're so _giddy_ ? I think you two need to get on going though, the cops don't seem to be getting off of your trail anytime soon. I'll distract them, buy you some time. Think of it as repaying an old favor. " 

Pitch raises an eyebrow but says nothing as he takes his partner with him and nods to the boy who quickly pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his pockets and writes down a name before handing it to Pitch .

"If you go down this way for a couple of blocks and cut across the park that's nearby, you should see an old brick house with the name of "Northern Lights" on it - it's a speakeasy and motel place, and North'll help you guys out. He'll probably have a place for you two to stay for the night, just pay him upfront and he'll keep quiet about it. The cops don't bother him cause he's like an ex-military guy or something." With that being said, Jack grins at them and salutes them off before dashing onward to the impending sounds of the sirens that seem to be loud and deafening, and it's as if it's air raid sirens and bombs were to fall on top of them and they would be dead if they didn't leave the place now. 

"It's alright Tooth, you're just a bit tipsy but they won't catch us."

"You're just a liar , Pitch Black" 

_Maybe I am dear, but let's just put that aside for now._

ii. 

She doesn't know why the alcohol decides to kick in right then and there because of course, she was fine until that point.

(Maybe it's just a slow-point process, that it had to catch up to her for now and it wouldn't go away and now she'll just be some useless lump of wibbly wobbly limbs and feathers everywhere and the sound of heels stumbling along cobblestone streets and it's a bit of a wonder that she hasn't tripped yet.) 

The evening air is chilly and she wonders how Pitch isn't leaving her for dead on the side of the street but maybe she has some sort of value to him even though they got screwed over and sold out this time and really, what a great impression that must have been. She thinks that she'll probably be left to deal with dusting old bookshelves or going out on grocery runs and he'll be doing all the work and it'll be like the old dichotomy of a man runs everything sort of world and she doesn't like that, thank you very much sirs. Still, she's curious and she walks with him - tries to anyway, it's as if he's running a marathon while looking impeccably pristine and dry cleaned and there's a bit of a 'posh' air around him but that just comes with his demeanor and she knows he hides his skeletons in closets with multiple locks and doors with a bit of poison ivy guarding the doors so that no one would enter - she pipes up and her voice seemed to be laced with liquor and damn, does she need a cigarette right now because her head's pounding and it's as if it's like a kiloton elephant dancing around in there and she doesn't notice the fact that she tries to bury her face into Pitch's neck because it just seems to be a bit of the normal thing to do . 

Her words slice up the air and she doesn't notice how he goes rigid, as if she had burned him or froze him into an iceberg and yet she smiles sweetly up at him - "You could've left me there though, you could've escaped and left me for the dogs - that would seem to be more of your style anyway, Pitch."

(He doesn't understand why his hands curl into fists but he brushes the rambling thoughts that jumble up in a concoction of confusion and anger aside and there's a strange echo of a feeling that he hasn't felt in a while - a sense of protection and perhaps a bit of lust tossed into the mix as well - Pitch Black and emotions don't go quite well together, as the formula states, they repel and retract and essentially cancel each other out unless there is a buffer or a medium, someone who is on the other end, receiving some sort of emotion that is instigated by him and well, we all know that Pitch Black's a tricky man with many masks - perhaps he's even playing with his mask here, maybe it's the cracks that are forming and he can't seem to decide which mask he has to take off next in order to survive with this woman who seems to get under his skin and he doesn't understand _why_ ) 

"Well, that would've been a wasted investment , Tooth. And you know how much I value my investments, especially when the shipment's concerned."

iii. 

They had found their way to the place that they were told of - it was all brick stone and lights streamed about, the window covered with various trinkets and miniatures of beds and dishes of food and perhaps they have a shot of escape as the siren calls seem to fade into a muted distortion as they enter the place - the bell jingles and then they are swarmed by attendants and a loud booming man who seemed to bleed out respect and insanity and wonder all at once and yet perhaps they will be safe.

(It doesn't really help that Tooth perks up a bit and is all a flutter of giddy laughter as she is tended to this way and that, shawl and feather boa taken away to hide away in a coat rack and his own coat is taken to be dusted off and they are offered a lofty room upstairs where it would be the equivalent of an attic but it is spacious and there are two beds in it and it's more then what they can ask for but the owner - North , his name is - insists with a knowing smirk that it's all on the house for being newcomers and something equally kindhearted and good that Pitch doesn't quite understand why exactly but still he takes him up on the offer and they stumble up the stairs to their little safe haven for the night)

iv. 

He opens the door with a little bit of fumbling with the key that North gives him and he has to wrap an arm around Tooth's waist to keep her from slipping and stumbling to the floor, because goodness knows she is like a lazy cat who wants nothing more but to annoy him to no end if she gets enough alcohol in her system, and it's as if she doesn't do that on a daily basis when she isn't drunk. There's a little bit of unsteadiness but he manages to make his way over with her and gently sits her down on the bed before moving to close the door and stare out the window, curtains swishing silently in greeting.

The room is spacious, with dust particles dancing merrily in the air, with the windows being large enough to give them the needed vantage point to scope out and see most of the street down below. It seemed to be perfect, with curtains and a little bookshelf that had a few worn books on it, with a lamp and a bedside cabinet as well. In terms of beds, however, there was only one - a twin size bed, with a dark charcoal color wooden headboard and a simple duvet with a feather pattern on it.

Rolling his eyes and gritting his teeth - _Really? One bed? One? They didn't have enough room for two beds in a room as big as this? Then again it's name is as tacky as it sounds - 'Northern Lights' - as if they couldn't think of anything else_ \- Pitch ran his hand through his hair as he growled a bit and slumped his shoulders in defeat, sitting down at the edge of the bed where Tooth had now crossed her legs and was watching him quietly, something along the lines of curiosity and amusement splayed out on her face. 

He had the urge to growl at her and snap because technically it was her fault that she had them running and them being stuck _here_ and really he's just playing the blame game because he can't seem to understand that quite frankly, she was in the clear and this was all his fault, but then again he was Pitch Black - he can scheme and plan and put on a mask of adoration or care or perhaps even concern, but at the end of the day when he closes his shop, he is but a man who is tired and wants to mind his own business, make his own money and carry on living his life with no reliance on anyone but himself. It wasn't that hard to ask people to leave him alone - they were scared of him, afraid of his odd colored skin, of his piercing eyes that seemed to know your fear and drew it out from the darkest corners of your mind. 

"You know, looking like a annoyed puss won't get you anywhere. I can sleep on the floor if you're so concerned as to what anyone would think if they found us in the same bed together, full clothed" she pipes up and he wonders if he's been muttering again because he sometimes does that - mutters and doesn't quite think properly when he's nervous or agitated or _in the same bed as someone whom he may very well like in a way that is more than just acquaintances and co-worker_ . 

"What in the world are you talking about, Tooth? Besides, you'd wake up with not only a headache but your back will hurt and I won't be carrying you down the street again, dear. I can sleep on the floor, really. " 

He thinks he's smooth talking his way out of things but then she moves forward and suddenly he's got a lapful of Tooth and he can smell the scent of mint and liquor and cigarettes and she leans forward.

(He thinks the old cliche of time stopping but perhaps that's just the gears in his head freezing and refusing to work as she kisses him and _oh,_ well, there's that familiar warmth pooling in his stomach and he thinks that perhaps, alright, for a few seconds he'll let her have her way with him, whatever that meant because he wasn't thinking clearly.)

They don't notice the snow that starts to fall outside, covering the streets and lamp posts with a velvety blanket of white and the wind rattles against the windowpane as the heat rattles on in their little attic room at the Northern Lights.


	8. Warning Signs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't really know why he lets her kiss him but he does and he starts to wonder if this is really how things are going to go down between them or if there'll be a bullet lodged in his throat before he can breath again once she's finished with him.

i.  
Her lips are smooth against his - he can taste the lipstick that is sticky and vivid and he wonders if he's even in his right mind for letting her do this to him. He thinks that if there's such a thing as your mind short-circuiting, then this is it. It's the feeling of everything stopping - your heart somehow manages to beat like a wild drum and yet your lungs are drowning in a sense of something clawing out of them, tearing up your insides and you want to laugh and cry and curl up and _die_ all at once. 

(It isn't right though, such a pretty thing with such an ugly man such as yourself.) 

Against his better judgement, he kisses her back, biting and sucking on her lower lip before regaining some sort of sense and logic into his head as he ends up lying down on the bed and she's on top of him, a lazy smile on her face as her hands start to unbutton his vest and undo his tie and really, it's all quite seductive but he's not drunk enough to do this, not a bit.  
He finds that his voice is a bit raspier than usual, but he manages to stop her hands from going down any further, because really if they touch his skin he'll be static and he can't exactly be accountable for his actions with her intoxicated and him even more so. 

"What are you doing, Tooth?"

She smiles and he thinks that he's reduced to utter nothing as her lips grace his throat and he pulls her closer, hand burying itself in her hair and he brings her closer to him because perhaps it's quite alright for him to tell the world to sod off for once in his life. 

ii.

It's really not that hard to undo buttons and ties are really simple things to unravel, she thinks to herself as she sits and straddles Pitch on the bed and she likes it here, being on top and watching the man slowly lose his carefully constructed composure around her, gold eyes flickering in the dim light of the room as they stared up at her and really, it's as if she had all the attention in the world. 

(They hadn't bothered with the lights, seeing as it was dark already and their eyes had grown accustomed to the dusty room with it's ratty heater that wouldn't stay quiet, rattling away as if it were scolding them for doing something that they were not supposed to be doing.)

His voice is raspy and she hums to herself as she attacks his neck and really, who knew that the stoic man who bore so many masks and hid his skeletons so well could be like pudding in her hands. He asks his question, and it's an obvious answer - they both know what she's doing - intoxicated or not, she figures that somewhere down the line it had started when she had started to run a few early morning errands and they had gotten into one of their verbal barbs and arguments and well, there were some books that were a bit too high up for her to reach on the ladder that she zipped about in his shop and there was a tumble involved but he had been there to catch her and _really_ it was like the stupidest cliche in her book, but she brushed it aside with a 'thanks' and he went back to his own business of brooding and taking down the inventory while he looks over the routes that the next shipment's supposed to be coming from so that they could rendezvous later that day on Madison and fifth and she'd get her fair share of pay. 

"What does it look like, Pitch?"

(I'm going to tear you apart and you can do the same to me, because there's no such thing as black and white in this world, darling.) 

iii. 

Soon enough it's the sound of gasps and pants and their clothes become a pile of blacks and golds and a lovely shade of violet pooling at the sides of the bed because they didn't care about being _careful_ \- they were too far gone to actually care, and the liquor was buzzing around in their heads. It was as if they were at war with each other with the way that they'd claw at each other's backs or bite at the skin that was laid out at their disposal to devour and demolish . His lips are smeared with her lipstick and he looks like an utter _mess_ while her neck is peppered with red and purple bite marks and it'll take a bit of make up to cover that up for the next few days. 

(She laughs as he tells her this , telling him to promptly 'Shut up' and he does that when she kisses him again and this time it's weird - it's _affectionate_ and he doesnt' quite understand that, doesn't quite know how to function, for he thinks that he has locked away his emotions after he buried a little girl who was burned and torn to bits when he returns from a war and his dreams of a home came crashing down. He remembers running in the rain, climbing aboard a ship that was infested with disease and rat and the stench of death and he thinks he's about to curl up and die until he steps out on the docks of New York and breaths in the air, a smile curling its way up onto his lips, one of malice and one of a man whose mind works in gears) 

They don't really keep track of time, they don't really need to anyway, because the world seems to melt away in their little warzone of snow and ice and fire and blood and they don't seem to _care_ anymore, don't seem to think that at any moment they could be traced and barged in on by the cops, arrested and dragged around to the streets like a pair of rats, locked up behind bars and laughed and spit at. 

(They don't care, don't care because this is their little hell and heaven mixed into one and it shouldn't make sense, shouldn't get them intoxicated with each other but they are and they think that it's an investment gone bad, perhaps)


	9. Remember We've Got Only One Life, Darling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There really isn't any amount of running or dancing that they can do because they are tainted and it's red red blood on her fingertips, digging into her as she claws and claws at herself but it simply won't go away and his voice is a viper in the darkness that lulls her to sleep in the glow of the moonbeams that sift through her hair and she hums a song of old forgotten dreams that crumble like nightmares.

i.

Her dreams taste of ash and the sound of the river laughing and bending in her dreams.  
She dreams of riverbeds and stones that sing with the sunbeams as the lilacs sway in the breeze. She thinks this is something of the alcohol’s doing – all sweet and childish and part of her feels sick in this dream world, in this little fantasy realm of peace and quiet and stability.

(She was never stable )

She thinks of that day, with bloody hands and the serpents slithering through her head, hissing and cackling as she cried and screamed and she doesn’t remember why it happened but it did, dead bodies rotting with flies and rats to keep the corpses company. She thinks of burning them, and yet she cannot move, can only shake like a deer about to get shot yet this deer now has claws and the childish wonder in her eyes is extinguished and yet she makes herself move, makes herself go away, _get away_.

She wraps herself up in scarves and shawls, jewelry and the dream of getting out, of a city where there are big lights and they say the streets are paved with gold. They do not say of the poverty, or the gang wars that bathe the streets in blood and yet she finds it all something of a sonata, a song that only the city can listen to and appreciate and it is almost soothing, that the city – such a large and vast place can be lulled to sleep by the chaos and the rats that scavenge the streets, cackling and twitching and it’s all quite a terrible place to be in and yet she can’t help but love it even more for its imperfections.

She remembers lips kissing her – soft and firm and utterly intoxicating and for a second she thinks she is just nursing an old bottle of liquor but instead she sees two golden lights and she thinks that they’re fireflies and yet the lips caress her hands gently, nipping softly here and there and it clicks into her mind as to where and with whom she is, and a smile laces itself onto her face as she lets the shadows quietly wrap themselves around her and with her and it’s as if she was in a cocoon, molting her wings to close her eyes and sleep once more. 

(They don’t care, they have time to kill and there’s only so much good alcohol that you can drown yourself with in one night without knowing when the next shipment will be and whether or not the police are tailing you even to this very minute. ) 

ii.

He wakes up at the sound of the shutters being rattled by the wind outside and the sun slowly poking its head out from the clouds that seem to be grey and white and it’s all far too early for him to remember what he was supposed to be doing until he sits up and he’s utterly _sore_ all over and yet there’s this quiet comfort that washes over him and really at this point he should either be freaking out or strangling someone but the only other person in the room (in bed, actually) would be the person who managed to fool him with her masks and sharp smiles , kisses that made you lust after more of them once you’ve had even one silver of a taste from her and really, it was as if she was some seducing Fate or Nymph just crowding around him to entice and utterly destroy in the end. 

(Perhaps that was her plan all along and he fell for it, doped up on alcohol and the thrill of the run) 

He watches her, watches the sunlight dance across her skin, and it’s warm, something stirs in him – it’s something that he hasn’t exactly acknowledged at all , the fact that he may let his guard down once, just for a few seconds. He thinks they are safe for a few more minutes and presses a kiss to her bare shoulder before moving silently like the shadows that trail him as he moves out of the bed and puts on a pair of underwear and moves to the window, watching and thinking to himself.

(He lets the sun wash over him, something that isn’t what he usually does. He thinks it is too warm, but for the moment he is a tired man, who has been running from nightmares and demons and little girls who are buried in gold lockets laced with onyx stones that are kept away in the farthest corners of his shop, hiding underneath piles and piles of books and papers, never to be found) 

They call him the Nightmare King and yet he can only laugh as the snow falls and the sun shines and there is something like happiness bubbling over in him and he doesn’t know why.

(He thinks it is the aftermath of the alcohol that has gotten to his head but perhaps there’s something else and he can’t put his finger on it.) 

It’s the mental mapping of the city’s geography and the tapping of his fingers against the simple wood table’s surface as he sits in the armchair by the window, lost in thought as he tried to remember where they should run, flee like rabbits from wolves before turning around and striking back with laughter and maniac darkness.

(There’s the scent of something burning and rotting that drifts through his mind and he revels in it) 

He doesn’t notice the fact that Tooth slowly wakes up from her deep willow scented dreams of ornaments and sandalwood, with hummingbirds and fruits, as her hair sticks up in all different directions and the sheets pool around her waist and she rubs her eyes, stretching as she watches him quietly.

(The sun and wind breeze through the window that is open slightly, rustling the curtains like a gentle caress) 

“You’re thinking too hard if you’re up this early in the morning, Pitch”

He doesn’t stir, only raises his golden eyes to hers before looking out the window and the tree tops and branches with the snow seem to contrast like a white linen dress and the dark brown curls of a little girl dancing through the sky and he starts to shake, hands trembling ever so slightly.

(Tooth doesn’t comment , gets up from the warm bed and pads over, hesitantly placing a questioning hand on his shoulder before leaning closer and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, a hymn on her lips that she hums as he claws and clutches her close to him) 

The snow falls and there’s a smile stashed away in a gold locket in the dark corners of his mind.


	10. Hands Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They march on with hands stained with blood, and shallow breaths that echo through the room.
> 
> They run through the streets again, and maybe they realize the circles that they've run themselves into.

i.

It has been approximately two hours since he broke down.

He is tired, chest heaving and tears escaping out of him like pent up secrets that never seem to go away, not for a moment.

He is shaking, shaking and he feels as if he is a small child, battered and bruised and a small whimper escapes him, and he doesn’t know why, he only knows that his only anchor right now is Tooth, her arms are strong, like sinew and willow and birch tree mixed together and a stone that is warmth and a soft song humming that keeps him anchored on reality.

He is undignified tears and a sob that wracks his body, twisting and broken and he wants her to stop touching him for her to _get away_ , but she simply tugs him closer and sits on his lap instead, trapping him inside the armchair that he had taken to sitting upon, watching the sun paint everything in hues of gold and orange and bright red.

He tries to pull away, but he claws and there is a fear that clouds his mind instead, trapping him with the dancing corpse of a little girl in a white dress painted red, like the roses in the Queen of Hearts’ garden, and that’s exactly how he feels like – as if he fell down a rabbit hole and ended up in some sort of nightmare realm, where he was being eaten alive and ripped apart by invisible beasts that only his mind seemed to conjure up and cloud away.

Tooth decides to gently slap him – once on one cheek, and once more on the other.

When that doesn’t work, she lifts his face towards hers and leans down , gently pressing her lips against his and something seems to click.

There is a quiet whine that escapes his throat, of want maybe, or of need.

Either way, he whispers against her lips not to stop, a quiet ‘Please’ in hushed tones that fill the room with a frenzy need, or desperation.

ii.

She kisses him firmly – not too hard, not to soft.

Rather, he doesn’t _let_ her kiss him softly.

She thinks he is something like a wounded animal, something that needs to be approached with grace and caution.

He doesn’t want that, he wants her to make him forget about the demons that cloud his mind, he wants to lose himself in her , flesh and bone and he thinks, if she was to shoot him dead he would smile and laugh and die happy.

(What an utter mess you are, Pitch) 

Gold eyes meet violet ones and he whispers for her to take him away from here, if even for just a little bit.

iii.

It’s the sound of sheets rustling, two moving as one and a collection of gasps and sighs and moans that many might consider indecent, but North doesn’t care, as long as they pay once they leave and he can ask for a favor from the Nightmare King sometime in the future.

They stay like that, frozen in their little alcove upstairs for the good part of the morning, and they were content , for those minutes that slipped on by like fish shimmering through the water.

Tooth rolls off of him, sweat beading her body and she shivers a bit as she moves around, cold air hitting her skin with no mercy.

Pitch is quiet but there’s a small smile on his face anyway.

(He tugs on her arm and she lets out a indignant squeak of protest before tumbling back onto the bed, limbs and hands tangling this way and that, and he kisses her soundly on the lips , gentle and sweet and she huffs in protest, biting his upper lip instead because he could have _warned_ her before manhandling her back onto the bed, the sneaky double crosser. )

She doesn’t really mind, nor care.

Besides, his kisses are an added bonus, along with the bonus that he should add to her paycheck considering this way past her shift at the shop.) 

“At this rate they’ll find us and then we’d be screwed, Pitch.”

“Mm? Don’t worry about it, just let me kiss you again.”

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe I should’ve shot you instea-“

He silences her with another kiss and she can’t help the blush that creeps onto her face as she pulls away and starts to put on her stockings, criss cross and the scent of jasmine perfume lacing the air.

iv.

They leave North’s place hand in hand , just to avoid any sort of suspicion, with hats and fur coats all bundled up, and knives and guns locked away along their thighs, shoes clicking and clacking along the pavement, breaths coming out in short puffs , white and misty against the cool air of the buzzing street.

Tooth bumps into him, purposely , a certain uneasy step in her feet – wobbly and shaking but she laughs anyway, leaning into his arm as he wraps it around her waist instead.

(It’s all just for appearance’s sake) 

“I hate you, I hope you know that, Pitch.”

“If you really hated me , you would have never taken the job when we first met.”

“I needed the money, besides, there’s only so many guys that would pay me to screw around with them, and it was cheap shit, money that was half fake anyway, not like it got me anywhere.”

He pretends not to react to that, after all, he’s seen many girls stand around on the corners, flashing too much skin and sometimes not enough skin to get some of the fat cats for a quickie in an alleyway, coming back out disheveled and a grin that seemed to be laced with cyanide as they counted the wrinkled bills that would be their salvation for the night.

Instead, he mutters something along the lines of “You’re too pretty “ and “Act natural” and “We need to get this job done Tooth, we’re already behind schedule and the shipment’s supposed to be arriving soon.” 

 

She only turns to him and grins, wild and unruly and pulls him along with her, their steps in sync and the tempo picking up, a ringing against the dull sleeping city pavement.


	11. Hard to believe (you could cause me harm)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sea salt bathed wound and poison dripping through their hearts , or rather one little lie after the other with kisses promised with bitter wine

It's a parlor that they enter, his away in one of the many alleyways, back by the piers where the scent of whores, gunshot powder ,dried blood and rotten fish clogged the air .

It was a dusty room, filled with snuff boxes and empty liquor bottles , and the familiar scent of opium drifting through the creaky floorboards. 

Pitch seemed to be at ease, a lazy cat who caught the mouse,the canary and was now basking in the rays of the warm warm sun . 

Tooth on the other hand was on high alert, because this was all too familiar , the hazy memories drifted to the surface of her mind , like old, fat, lazy koi fish gurgling and biting fingers for the meager piece of bread -

_She was a little girl with no one and nothing to her name but her body and the fantasies of rich men dressed in black and white suits, cigar smoke clouding her eyesight as they leered at her, jackal grins behind smirking greasy eyes , blinded by greenbacks and a pretty gem for their taking._

She remembers the screams that ripped through her throat as if she was being torn apart by wild dogs and she can not stop the shaking and hatred that seeps through her veins, hot burning iron that makes her skin fire hot to the touch and she is venom and a she-wolf rolled up into one, hackles raised to tackle and rip apart the triggers and ghosts for they had no part in trampling around her head in the dark and yet, here they were.

_it's no wonder, you got yourself tangled up with Pitch Black of all people_

She remembers the other girls dressed in pale pinks and plume purples , hickeys and scratches adoring their perfume drenched skin, torn stockings and a bottle of gin in their hands as they whispered about a man with pitch black hair and eyes that seemed to be made of gold and how the 'rude' chaps seemed to scurry on off whenever he would stroll onto the docks, and that he was loaded with money, had enough grease to take down anyone and everyone if he wanted to.

The drug rings knew him as the Nightmare King, because he'd find out each and every member's greatest fear and make them relive it every single night until they gave up and gave him what he wanted or blew a hole through their heads in attempt to get out of his mind games .

She thought they were stupid and drunk out of their mind but she can only laugh and pull out the small dagger from her thigh strap and push him up against the wall, eyes burning violet fury as she hisses , hatred spewing like venom 

" _Why_ are we _here_ , Pitch?" 

He only smiles at her, shark grin and eyes burning in the darkness of the old parlor.

ii.

He had taken to finding out everything about everyone that he could, what they loved , what they hated.

He was in this game of bootlegging and drug stores because he had nothing better to do, not since his little girl was eaten away and stolen from him by the Rat King and he had turned away , turned tail and ran away to the bright lights and anonymity of New York where anything was possible with a little bit of luck and fear.

If it was anything that he knew how to do, it was to dive into the minds of others and extract their fears, to create fantasies where they would enter a stress environment and their own bodies would become a torture chamber and he would sit on his throne of bones and blood and sip his cocktail of opium and alcohol and plot away, taking on persona upon persona, mask after mask until he didn't know where he ended and where the Nightmare King began, and that was perfectly fine.

Which is why when Tooth finally snapped and pushed him against the wall, dagger pressed against his throat like a wolf baring its teeth, he could only smile and laugh because she fell for his little trap and oh how utterly gullible she was .

(It would make her kisses even more sweeter when this would all be over , if she didn't kill him first )

iii.

"You know, you're really quite easy to slip into, Tooth my dear." 

He leers and smirks at her, eyes glittering in the darkness for her face contorts into rage and seething anger and something akin to betrayal and he can only relish in it because this - the utter turbulence of this entire thing - of their relationship, the seeds of hatred and worry and affection that he had sewn into her wooden , broken, chest made it even all the better and filled him with life . 

"Why don't you just kiss me, hm? Just like old times, when those little fat maggots would pant and get their knickers in a twist over your innocent gaze hm? Isn't that all you know how to do anyway , Tooth m'dear?" 

She can only let out a growl before letting the dagger's edge dig into his skin and it _isn't_ fair because she should not listen to his voice, velvet and soft and a warm darkness that reminds her of a long sleep after listening to her bones creak and groan for days on end .

She should just kill him and leave, put on some lipstick - _red for good luck_ \- and some rouge, don on a few jewels and walk away, heels clicking away on the pavement with the city at her feet.

Instead, she doesn't expect him to erupt into laughter and hear the gunshot sounds that rip through the parlor walls, nor does she anticipate being thrown to the floor and him whispering 

"Brilliant show, darling " in her ear as everything closed away in a murky ink mess before her eyes and it was the end of her act for the night.

Pitch only smiles and kisses her forehead gently before turning to the group of men who barged into the parlor, drunk as the dead but all the more stupider as the minutes ticked on by.

Putting on his show face , he smiles and whirls around, hands extended in a exaggerated bow as he purrs 

"What can I do for you, gentlemen ?"

And the scent of fire and the scurrying of rats flood through his mind but he has the scent of jasmine and sandalwood with spices to keep him grounded for now as the moon filters through the thin walls and death seemed to watch with interest as the night dragged on by .


	12. Such Selfish Prayers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She hears the dripping of the water in her head and she thinks of hands that never go away, petting and pressing up against her and it's too much to handle.

i.

She wakes up to the sounds of a tap dripping and thinks that there’s too much static noise in her head, that she was hit by a blunt object and her head seemed to be swollen to the size of a loud , stampeding elephant.

She felt like it, anyway – as she turned her head this way and that and realized that she was chained up to the wall, shackles like dogs with the metal digging into her skin, like old cold corpse hands digging away at her flesh.

(She closes her eyes and thinks that it’s only a dream, that they’d wake up and they’d be back at the bookshop, and she’d be running errand, picking up the slack because _Pitch_ decided to fall asleep again after some late night perusing and reading, and she’d run out and leave little notes of 

“I’m going to get the coffee, be back in five, don’t eat the books.” 

Or something of that sort) 

It’s dust that clogs her throat and she wants to get _out_ \- she doesn’t stay in one place, she can’t.

It’s in her bones to run away and keep moving.

Never stopping, not even to breathe, always moving, like her hummingbird heart.

ii.

Pitch Black is a man of many masks, to say the least.

So when he’s greeted with the sight of men drunk off their heads, he can only smile and knock Tooth out, make up a grand, intricate lie that she’s part of the deal, that he won’t go forth with the transaction until old man Moony gets his up and mighty self here, in the parlor, with the goods.

So they leave her along, because they know what the Nightmare King can do, even when they’re drunk.

(Hell, they remember, that one guy that tried to touch the girl – he’d gotten a shot to the head quicker than they could even blink, and Pitch Black’s eyes seem to glow like a possessed man, as if he wasn’t a man , as if he were some demon in a meatsuit) 

It doesn’t mean that they’ll question it when he visits her, just to check up on her, you know?

He walks through the doors and she turns her head sharply – far too quickly then she should have because there’s a little quiet noise of discomfort and she bites down on her lip to keep from crying out.

Stiff muscles are a trouble, pulled ones even more so.

He keeps his face calm and neutral, a smile there anyway.

(He doesn’t let himself break the mask, not until he knows that there are no eyes watching from beneath the floorboards , or staring through the walls) 

Clicking his tongue, he makes his way until he’s closer to her, and she can only lift her head up and glare at him, anger and fury and hatred painted like a portrait on her skin.

“It’s _oh so terribly nice of you_ to _visit_ me, Pitch.” 

“Ah ah ah, why the angry tone, Tooth? We’re friends after all.” 

( _Lovers,_ he wants to say, but keeps the thought in his mind instead, because for all he knew, she could hate him and just use him , and that would be that.)

 

“Last time I checked, _friends_ don’t let their friends get knocked out and chained up to the wall.” 

iii.

He leans in closer, breath hot against her skin and whispers , kissing her skin gently , softly and it’s infuriating to her – 

“It’s just for show, they would’ve shot you dead.” - because she wants more. 

She thinks that he’s just trying to distract her, and maybe, it was working to a certain degree, because she couldn’t really focus all that well and it was getting harder to breath, because her hummingbird heart was speeding up and pounding against her chest with a fury.

He doesn’t stop kissing her – her neck and collarbone and moves up to kiss her cheeks and her forehead because he won’t be seeing her, not for some time, not unless he manages to play all the cards right. 

He whispers “I’m sorry” 

She replies with shaking her shackles and laughing quietly because she’s too tired to play any more games, but she listens as he whispers in her ear – tells her that he needs to play one little act before they can go back home.

“You mean, until you can force me around to run errands and get coffee for you in god knows when in the morning?” 

He smiles – and it’s a genuine smile this time – and mutters “Yeah, exactly.” Before leaning closer and brushing their lips together for one last kiss – except, she doesn’t let him go this time, and he doesn’t want to go either, which was the mockery of this entire mess that they got into in the first place. 

iv.

“Don’t.”

“I have to , they’ll start suspecting something if I stay here for longer than what the time is to check up on the hostage and you know, ask some questions.” 

“They won’t suspect, we can just interrogate each other.” 

“You just want me to keep kissing you, is this what your plan is?” 

“Mhm. Well, I’m a little tied up , but if I wasn’t I’d probably be putting on a show for you.”

“Don’t – you don’t have to do anything Tooth.”

“Seems like I do, seems like the only thing that I’m good for, anyway.”

“Shut up and kiss me you idiot”

“I was, until you interrupted me with your stupid speeches and spiels about being a two faced drug lord.” 

“I’m deducting that out of your paycheck.”

“I’m sure I can find other ways of earning a bonus, Pitch.” 

v.

She smiles at him and it’s all quite stupid, because they look at each other and grin like idiots instead of worrying about the gunshots and the opium that creeps into the corner of their minds.

 

It’s the sound of clothes slipping away and chains rattling and little breaths and sighs and kisses that don’t seem to stop nor do they want to stop because it’s as if they were teenagers doing something illicit in the school grounds and they can only stifle their giggles and try to bite down their moans by tracing it on each other’s skin and it’s more than enough.

He kisses her firmly and tells her that he has to leave, but she catches his breath with 

her own and bites and lets out a hiss because he’s not allowed to leave, 

because she has to punish him for locking her up and away and he can only 

gasp at her lips on his neck and it’s not fair that she has this much control over him, and he doesn’t 

know _why_ or how but she does have that much control over him and it’s 

only that it’s all the more electrifying when she gasps and

writhes against the wall and his own body and he presses kisses to her inner thighs and she’s warm

warm 

warm 

And burning up his ice cold heart.


	13. Dull Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memory lane brings up old ghosts and a new face comes to play

I.

He never did like Old Moony - the Man in the Moon , that's who he was known as, opium drug lord who , hasn't been caught by the cops - not once .

They say it's something about how he dresses and acts , how he's quite the diplomatic charmer with a smile to sooth the nerves. 

(They never suspect the quiet ones , they also don't say anything when they're stuffed to the brim with opium and money and bullet holes riddling their spines and veins) 

He remembers, back to when he was part of Moony's Golden Army , back where being naive about the world only served Moony's purpose, and gave you the upper hand , letting you move up the ranks which meant bigger bonuses , bigger chances .

(He was a hero, his darling girl a princess)

He remembers , the warning bells that he chose to ignore, the nightmares fed to him, torn apart and extracted only to be implemented in him and to fester like an old rotten wound left in the open - he remembers Moony's smile and the screams that ripped through his throat.

ii. 

He thinks it would be easier if Tooth hasn't met him , back on their little corner on Madison and Fifth and he thinks - doesn't really think because there's no time to think , because he has to think of all the loopholes and counter arguments and he needs that next order of alcohol before Moony gets his grubby little hands on it, passes it off as some sort of elixir while in reality he's simply getting rid of competition with the first batches of brew - deadly poison, not alcohol- 

Everything would be easier if he hadn't found anyone - if you went in solo , you had no tangible weakness , which meant less liabilities , less risk in this game of truth or dare.

 

It is the repeated rat a tap tap of a cane hitting the wooden floorboard and a 

"Hello , Pitch " 

 

That makes his blood run cold. 

iii. 

It is old smoke curling around him like an agitated cat and the dim lights of a opium drenched piss hole in some old parlor in Manhattan .

He thinks that maybe his cards will beat out the mastermind , that the dog will finally have the chance for a bite rather than a bark at its master and he laughs because he knows it's no use but he's going to try anyway - blindly , stupidly .

 

"Well now Pitch, have you taken to kidnapping and gaudy parlors to conduct your businesses hm?" Moony asks, calm and serene and a flicker of malice on his face .

"Who , me? What a disgrace , Moony! Of course not. I do however , use this place for the shitholes that I have to deal with on a daily basis."

 

He narrows his eyes and smiles , watches the Man in the Moon's face twist and contort into that of a demon's and he thinks that this will be one long night .


	14. Don't save me (cause I don 't care )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a gamble and a race with daggers and lost smiles

I.

She remembers the kisses that he had left on her, warm and soft and a reminder , just a little pain to sharpen the senses since there was a scent - a aura , that seemed to dull her senses and make her movements sluggish and making it harder for her to focus . 

(He had whispered her bits of the plan - he's loosen her chains, she'd be separated from him for a bit but if everything went well they'd be getting out alive.

 

He paints the layout of the parlor on her skin with his fingers and lips and asks if she remembers and she nods, cold steel and burning amber rolled up into one and he smiles and calls her his lovely bird and she growls at him and lashes out again, for she's no useless , broken bird.

She is hellfire and iron with poison laced inside. 

He nods and laughs and murmurs 

"Of course, how can I forget?"

And he leaves with the shadows trailing behind him like obedient dogs, and she is left to hear the shallow breathes that scramble out of her lungs like rats from a sewer.)

ii.

She remembers and hears the sound of shoes beating along the wooden floorboards and the sound of heavy guns clinking and footsteps trampling into the room and she's surrounded by Moony's men and she can only stay motionless and silent yet there is a silent anger that rolls off of her in ways and she remembers hands touching and leering eyes that pry and poke but she lets herself go, doesn't bother fighting or making the notion to fight.

Until they're close and about to slip themselves between her legs that she manages to twist and turn and get one hand out of her chains and lock them in with a vice grip with her legs and it's a fury that seizes her that she manages to break the second chain, and then their leers and sneers and laughter turn into gasps and gurgling and she spits on them as she weaves in and out between the bodies and picks up an old dagger that she once knew the name of , and it dawns on her that Pitch had kept it , ever since that one time , one rainy day when one man had decided to follow her back to the shop and she had taken it out from the inside of her boots , whirled around and threatened to cut his throat out when Pitch had intervened and took it from her , saying something like the customer is always right and wishing the man a good day before vanishing to the back where he had been sorting books.

Tooth had been furious and wanted to throw each and every heavy hardcover book that she could find at him and she had stormed the back, snarled in his face about what had happened and what a fool he had made of her and he had calmly replied with the fact that he - Pitch Black - had leverage over one small scum in the cesspool of society and it was all thanks to Tooth .

She had looked at him as if he were mad but he had told her to hush and get back to work but yet her dagger had gone missing and how was she supposed to protect herself ? 

She had never thought that he had kept it , nor slip it into her hands whilest in enemy territory.

Killing the men is as easy as peeling the skin off a fruit - a peach perhaps , with blood as the juice and she can only grin and walk along with the shadows for she has to wait .

It doesn't mean she can't go looking around the place, abandoned sketchy parlor or not . 

 

iii.

He closes his eyes as Moony smiles and he tells himself to breathe , to stay calm.

The Nightmare King needs help staying calm, the irony in this world, he thinks to himself and lets himself smile.

He had given her the dagger back as a goodbye gift , a simple thing really, but one of great importance , and now he was facing the devil and one thought skidds through his mind - 

_Goodbye, Tooth_


	15. Old Blood and New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's ragged breaths and the floorboards are painted a red color, and she thinks of the ocean, and he thinks of his little girl and the devil smiles down at them both.

i.

He hears the whistle of the cane cutting through the air and feels its crack against his face as he goes stumbling into the nearby old abandoned booth, dust rolling up his lungs and blood trickling down his forehead.

He lets out a laugh, tired and ragged, and it’s as if there are glass teeth eating away at his insides. 

(He’s got some bark left in him, at least, for Tooth he does. Maybe.) 

“You’re nothing but a wretched dog, an utter _disgrace_ to everyone in this world. Pitch Black, the King of Shit and Piss, not the ‘Nightmare King’!” Moony hisses, raising his cane again only to bring it down once more – one hit to the chin, another to the shoulders, and another to the stomach. 

He’ll beat him to a bloody pulp, the little shit who tried to get away, who tried to _get out_.

(Once you’re in the Golden Army, you can’t get out.

Any and all deserters would be terminated.) 

Pitch Black seems to be black and blue and blood coughing up his lungs and he thinks it’s the opium and asbestos and dust that seep into him. 

Or the poison liquor they had fed him at that party.

He should have known, that they had walked into a trap the very instant they had stepped foot into the place - and yet he wanted one night where he could see Tooth and it could be some sort of normalcy, something like how the guys would take their girls out for a drink and a dance, and then it’d be long walks along the empty streets and maybe he’d even get to kiss her.

Maybe he’d even give up the extra gig of swindling opium and marketing it through the same bootleg system that he had.

It was all maybe maybe maybe and enough blood to choke him.

Moony wouldn’t stop.

Moony was furious.

And yet, all Moony did was smile calmly.

(They’re always worse when they smile.) 

ii.

She had clutched her dagger close, footsteps silent – she remembers her mother in wisps and ghosts , tendrils that dance around her mind and whisper little things – 

_Be as silent as the wind, and as quick as a fox, my little Toothiana_

She can feel her breaths escaping, hysteria creeping up on her and she thinks of the ocean and it’s calm winds, how she would run as fast as her little legs would carry her, how the strange men with blood on their lips would chase after her, and it’s the soft sound of skin hitting stone as she would run as fast as she can, little knife in hand, scarves and shawls wrapped around her like feather spirits, will-o-wisp fireflies lighting her way in the dark night.

She remembers scrambling up into the forest trees, knew the path that her mother told her to take, to run and never look behind - _the forest will protect you_ \- she had told her, before telling her to run.

She remembers the screams that echoed through the night and she remembers the wolf howls that lulled her to sleep, up in the trees of a forest long forgotten with the ocean not too far away.

She remembers, sneaking around the harbor, seagulls crying and shrieking at her, and one of them had even sat on her head, until she had moved and ducked behind the cargo that was to be loaded up on the ships.

She remembers, how there were foreigners, and people of all shapes and sizes and how odd they looked.

She knew she couldn’t get caught, which is why when she felt herself being feverish and sick she panicked and she couldn’t think, only curl up and shake like a leaf.

“Oi, ankle biter, you’re going to eventually shrivel up and die out here if you don’t get a move on.” 

It was then that she had met E. Aster Bunnymund, traveling medic, with a knack for bargaining and collecting knives. 

If it weren’t for him, she probably would have been killed then and there, or tossed out to the sharks to be eaten.

He had kept her company, told the crew that she was with him, and if they tried anything fishy he’d tell their captain.

(Actually, that was a lie. He never did tell their captain, he simply dealt with it himself. 

Nothing like some laxatives in their rum to do the job. )

He was her first friend.

 

iii.

He had taught her how to fight, how to defend herself, and when she had announced that she’s going to run to the city with big lights and dreams he laughed and muttered something about young ones being delusional.

It didn’t stop her from stomping her foot like a ten year old and glaring at him.

(He only shook his head and smiled, and pulled her close, gave her a hug, some money, and told her to burn the world down with her smile, because she was his hummingbird, and she had a lot in store for her.)

They parted on the docks of New York, and she never did see him again.

But he was close, to her, kept tabs on her even if she didn’t know it. 

It was his knife that she held in her hand, and she felt like she could take the world down with it if she tried.

And damn, did she need to try right now. 

iv. 

He remembers his little girl’s laughter, the gleam in her eye as she would dart about the woods, playing hopscotch with no one but old ghosts and she was a happy child, wizened beyond her years, sometimes.

She was smart, and moody, but she was his and no one elses.

He wonders why he remembers her now, as each and every strike of Moony’s cane makes his vision spotty and causes him to crawl away.

(Pathetic, really)

There’s blood that trickles down his face, that smears itself all over the wooden floorboards, but he’s too tired to fight, and all he wants to do is sleep.


	16. These Foolish Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sinking ships and blood on the floor and he thinks if he sleeps he'll never wake up .
> 
> She thinks of what an old friend taught her, remembers what her mother had said, and runs. 
> 
> They're crashing and burning but maybe they'll stand up .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me under 'chrysanthemumskies' over on tumblr uvu! Thank you very much for reading, liking, reblogging, commenting and leaving me kudos!
> 
> The song that this chapter was based off of /lyrics at the end are from Ella Fitzgerald's These Foolish Things

i.

There’s always that moment, in the old songs that Pitch used to hear as he would walk past the streets of New York – the ones of how swell it would be, to get the girl of your dreams and dance away the night, not a care in the world. 

How utterly wonderful and dapper things were – laced up suits, with the dandy cufflinks that make everything much more smarter, and then the girls would come out in their short hair cuts - _bob cuts_ \- and they’d dance in their dresses and heels, smoke their cigarettes and laugh in the faces of the guys who they could care less about, smoke filled lungs and glittering diamonds that no one really cared about.

_Old blood and new blood, that’s all this city’s made of._

He came to New York to get away, from the aforementioned ‘Golden Army ‘ – a top of the notch boss ring with enough drug cartels with enough money to invade, sell, and completely cripple an entire country if they wanted to. Instead, the head honcho was Sanderson Mansnoozie – a chubby, little man who had enough wit for the game to outsmart everyone else and take over the little gangs and piss heads who thought they’d be able to steal back their territories once their envoys had taken over. 

On the public and general news front, everything was picture perfect – Moony’s Golden Army was there for the public’s concern, to help rebuild and reconstruct and ease the progression into a new age, with inventions to help improve the every day lives of the city’s residents, at the touch of their finger tips.

(What they really meant was to pay up the advertisers and police, keep their men in the incognito mode and infiltrate the police, hook up and corrupt as many cops as they could and get out before anyone notices that they had been there. 

They had diverged the ‘Golden Army’ into two factions – the ‘Golden Army’ itself, which was filled with the top drug lords and bootleggers in the game and the ‘Dream Pirates’ – the little guys who did the dirty work, who , while offering up Moony their territory, money, and what little power they had in order to escape a bullet to the head, undoubtedly became the disposable trash in his little monopoly. 

And yet, he had no records, no black blemishes or anything of that sort, not in the public’s eye of course.

He was just a do-good businessman, looking to help the people.

Anyone who had disagreed with the very notion of him being anything but a kindhearted man , would be terminated. 

Perhaps, not on site, but in a few days, or weeks, or months. 

He’d always strike, in the dead of the night, when dreams were the sweetest. 

They always did call him the Sandman. )

Pitch Black was just a tired man, who had lost everything in a gamble that had cost him his little princess’ life.

(Sanderson had said it was him being _kind_ \- that the next time, he would put a bullet through Pitch’s head if he ever saw him again.)

Pitch had been broken, laughing on the floor of his little place – a picture perfect little home smeared in blood and the sting of ash and fire burning his eyes.

He had wanted to burn then and there. 

Yet there was something that pulled him towards the sea – told him to go , far far away.

Told him to go to the city of lights and sounds, and maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to get far away, maybe dabble in the old scene again, see what money he’d scoop up. 

 

He never expected to be running a old bookshop that he had called his home, nor did he expect to fall in love with a stranger who he knew barely anything about.

But maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to get out of this. 

He laughs as the blood soaks through his clothes, bones crunching and lungs barely working but he needs to get out , because Tooth – well, maybe she’s gone , left your sorry self behind and got out – Tooth would be furious with him, and she did promise him another kiss.

Just maybe , if he gets out of this alive.

For now, he wants to sleep, but if he closes his eyes, he knows he won’t get up.

Not now, not ever. 

_And we can’t have that , now can we? That would be terribly boring of you, Pitch._

He laughs, mocking and cold and there’s about little to no bark left in him, nor bite, but maybe if he holds out just a little bit longer he can make his stupid brain think of what to do. 

ii.

 

She thinks that things are quiet – eerily quiet, but there aren’t that many floors in this parlor – old and abandoned but she thinks – and she doesn’t know _why_ but thinks that she’s quite possibly hit her head a tad too hard as she clutches her knife and rummages around the inner folds of her dress and crows out giddily – ‘Found you!’ before tossing in a coin into the jukebox, that , to her surprise, still manages to work.

It’s a static-y, dusty old thing, but it does the job because she ducks behind the counter and tries to get her breathing under control, and soon enough she hears footsteps that creak underneath the weight of the man with the _tap tap tap_ of a furious cane and hears the click of a gun being cocked and her blood runs cold and she thinks back to what Bunnymund had told her, to stay calm.

 _No use in being a jackrabbit if you’re gonna run into the line of fire. Wait, test the waters. If you see an openin’, go for it. If not, duck and hope the bullet misses._

 

“Come out come out wherever you are, you little rat. “

Sanderson sings, glaring at the jukebox as he survey’s the room, not quite able to concentrate for the full one hundred percent – there’s a certain thing called exuberant excitement and ‘ _I’m a slightly deranged drug lord with far too much power that’s gone to my head so of course little things like static irritate me now let me fire this gun and get the show over with ‘_ that rattle through his head as he fires one shot and it hits the old bottle on the shelf above the counter, glass shattering and raining down onto the wooden floor, inches away from Tooth’s feet and she can’t help but huff a bit because _really_ now? These were brand new shoes thank you very much – and maybe she should have though of a better place to hide because quite frankly, she had the disadvantage from where she was now - if she were to move too quickly or slowly, she would either get a bullet through her head or she’d be able to close in and maybe get the both of them out of here. 

_You can’t hide all day, birdy._ Sandy grins, before firing off a few more rounds, each making more glass rain down near her and it’s a wonder how she hasn’t been cut to ribbons yet, or how her shaking hasn’t made the counter visibly vibrate as she felt the fear lace up inside of her, coursing through her instead of her blood. 

When that doesn’t make her budge, Sandy huffs and sings out 

“Guess I’ll just have to beat Pitch to a bloody pulp then, if he didn’t decide to go to sleep, in which that case I’ll just sit and watch as he convulses and dies quite violently. It’s always a bad idea to drink the first batch of moonshine – you’ll go blind, or well, if you don’t, you’ll end up terribly … _dead_. Course, I wonder what happens if you add poison to it. Can’t be pretty, I’m sure of that.” 

She doesn’t know if he’s bluffing or not – and she can’t remember if she had a drink of what Pitch had as well, or if others were drinking from the same bottle, or who the server was or what would even happen if she couldn’t reach him in time.

(He chuckles instead of outright laughing because that would certainly key her in on the fact that there was the possibility that he was bluffing. 

Somewhat. 

He certainly didn’t give Pitch a sip of the first batch of Moonshine – but he did slip a little poison into his drink. One said poison, that he had the antidote for in the inner pocket of his suit jacket. 

One that maybe, he’d use as a bargaining chip.

Since she _was_ quite the pretty bird. 

And he always liked pretty birds.

 

Liked to break them and smash them and devour them raw. 

While they scream and cry for help he liked to break their bones and laugh instead. ) 

 

Still, he needed her to get out of her little spot, so he sang again – “C’mon then pet, you move out of your little hole, and maybe we can come to a little agreement hm? I _am_ a gentleman after all!” 

_Mustn’t scare the bird away._

iii.

She thinks he’s insane, thinks he’s quite possibly poisoned by power but she thinks that she has no options – it’s either he’ll shoot her brains out, or shoot Pitch and quite frankly while she did like the possibility of her being alive and breathing and not _dead_ , she also couldn’t leave Pitch behind because he did save her multiple times.

Even if he didn’t know he did. 

Figures. 

Which is why, she had slipped her knife away, underneath the folds of her dress and slowly stood up, arms raised in surrender , face trained in looking scared and defenseless.

_A little broken doll._

_C’mon Tooth, you know the role all too well, time to put on a show._

_One last time._

_For ol’ Pitch’s sake, at least._

__

“You caught me” she whispers, lip trembling and body shaking in fright. 

 

“Oh good, the little bird decided to come out and _play_!” he smirks, and cocks the gun before motioning with it for her to move closer. 

“C’mon then, since I’m a gentleman, it’s ladies first! I’ll take you to Pitch, if you’d like. You can see him before he bites the dust!” Sandy laughs, before watching her with narrowed eyes as she swallows and nods. 

“Good! Now, keep walking, birdy.” 

She makes herself move – slow, steady. 

Eyes darting from side to side , watching, calculating – how many steps from this room to the next, how many corridors and weak spots in the wall, how many ways of escape. 

How many how many how many? 

 

When they come to the room she makes herself freeze, stop.

Doesn’t act on the need to whirl around and take out her dagger and stab the man who holds a gun to her back , doesn’t act on the urge to tear his throat out and rip him to shreds.

 _Calm down calm down calm down_

“Go on then, birdy! Fly to your owner!” Sandy laughs, pushing her forward with the gun as she stumbles and moves closer, kneeling down beside Pitch before gingerly touching his shoulder and muttering a quiet “Hey there” and he opens his eyes, blinks a bit before widening them and there’s something like panic and a tired soul inside of them as he laughs a bit and this definitely wasn’t what he had in mind when he wanted to take her out for the night.

“You know, you two are terribly sickening so I think I’ll leave you two alone for the next oh, fifteen minutes or so. That should be the time for the poison to finish him off!” Sandy mutters, rolling his eyes as he moves away and into the adjacent corridor humming a tune while tapping his cane and whirling his gun around on one finger. 

 

iv.

There’s something like a quiet silence that wraps around them like a lazy cat that weaves between them and she mutters quietly – “Can you sit up, Pitch?”

“I can try. No promises I won’t bleed like a stuck pig though” he replies, laughing as he winces – her hands are strong as she moves him and makes him lean against the side of the booth , and he catches her hand, kisses the inside of her wrist and it’s a quaint little gesture that probably doesn’t mean anything to her, but if this was the way he was going out , he might as well let her know. 

“Listen, Tooth, I – “

“Shut up .”

“No look I –“

“I said _shut up_ ”

“I’m not going to make it Tooth, I can feel it.”

“I told you to _shut up_ , Pitch Black. Or do I have to kiss you to shut you up?”

She’s angry, there are tears that are forming and she hates that she’s so stupid, so weak willed, so terribly optimistic that she thought they’d get out of this alive. 

“I wouldn’t mind that.” He laughs quietly, reaches up to stroke her hair, touch the little feathers that stick out of her headpiece and hums a bit as she moves closer and kisses him.

It shuts him up, and maybe she can think then.

“You know, he might be lying. About the poison?” she mutters, moving to sit next to him on the dusty wooden floor and she leans on him, and wonders if this is all just one really bad dream instead. 

 

“He’s not. He does have the antidote on him though, I know that for sure.” Pitch mutters, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and sighing, staring up at the old ceiling, wood beams that have holes in them, and the sky peaks through, little beams of moonlight shining through. 

“Huh?”

“It’s the standard poison that he uses to kill off anyone who tries to get out of his gang. I know , since I had to take care of some rebels a while ago . It doesn’t work all at once though - it makes you sluggish, and if you bleed out enough , it works to slow you down even more, then you start to hallucinate, and if you’re lucky, you fall asleep and die in your sleep. It’s why they call him the Sandman – one dose and you’re out like a lamp.” 

She lets out a quiet growl of frustration and wraps her arms around her knees and huffs because it seemed as if they were in a dead end with no way out.

“Hey, don’t worry. If anything, at least you get out alive out of this mess. I’d leave the shop to you, you could restart your life, make something of it. I think that Jack Frost kid had his eye on you or something, maybe. You’d be able to forget this mess.” Pitch mutters, watching the moonbeams that shine through the holes. 

“Do I have to kiss you to shut you up again I told you - _I’m not leaving without you_ , idiot.”

Pitch only smirks and laughs before nudging her shoulder and leaning in for another kiss, and she lets him, and thinks maybe they can do this.

In the other room, the jukebox croons out - 

_These foolish things remind me of you_

_How strange how sweet to find you still_

_These things are dear to me_

_They seem to bring you near to me_

_The scent of smould'ring leaves, the wail of steamers_

_Two lovers on the street who walk like dreamers_

And maybe it’s alright.


	17. Old Burnt Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something like old liquor burns and a mad chase to get out alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chrysanthemumsies over at tumblr uvu!

i.

He thinks of old autumn leaves that curl and burn underneath the soot of his cigarette ashes – he’d just gotten off the boat, waist coat tucked in prim and proper and a gentleman in all regards, white and yellow pinstripes and my, does he look quite the dashing fellow.

If it wasn’t for the way there seemed to be a gleam of anger in his eyes, hidden away by the shadow of his hat, and way that there’s an old rickety tap tap tap of his cane hitting against the wooden boards of the dock, he could have passed off as a normal sort of man, going on about his business in the shit pools of New York.

Where there were whores and old sea salt crusted nets, made for fish too poor to be caught, too rotted and festering with pus and decay to be given the time of day and thought for. 

He thinks that that is how the world is – there are the riches in the sea, and then there are the rotting roots that clog the ocean from running free, from letting the worthy and wealthy chase after, barring the way for them to claim their oysters, to bury their hard earned blood soaked hands into riches and cry tears of gold.

(That’s what he thinks to himself, on the good days.) 

(Some called him insane, some delusional. ) 

ii.

She tries not to notice how Pitch’s breathing is changing – it’s subtle at first, at first it was steady, stable. 

Nothing too worrying, not at first – everything at first seemed fine , seemed like there’s nothing that a moon beam can’t heal.

(She wonders where she got that from, then remembers an old tale her mother used to tell her, about the sun and the moon and how they used to be lovers, great warriors who fought to keep the darkness at bay, who would shoot stars that were flaming arrows with secret messages written for each other, and that the moon beams were tears from the moon, that would heal and protect all the bravest little warriors and princesses from the demons that prowled the night.

She thinks back to old wooden floors and wind chimes that danced with the wind, an old pleasant melody that sounded like the hum of a hummingbird and thinks of how she was a little monster,

Little hands and feet but teeth covered in blood, tear tracks smeared with dirt and she can feel the fear crawling through her as she scampers up a tree, breathes coming out in little puffs and she can see the moon beams that rain down on her and thinks that maybe she can live for one more day, survive one more night.

And then she’ll escape into a oyster world of her own, where she can be a queen and protect everyone and everything, keep their memories guarded.

She can only laugh at how much of a fool she was back then, and how much of a fool she was now. ) 

Slowly, his breathing pattern begins to change, begins to coil up and tighten and she can’t help but panic, and it shows, on her face – that she’s frightened and worried, and maybe it’s not too bad of an idea to take her old knife out and make her skin turn red red red and she shakes the thought out of her head before looking up at him and he just gives her a tired smile, and mutters “Guess we need to get a move on, Tooth.” 

She remembers how little he’d smile, when she first met him, on their rainy little corner on Madison and Fifth, and she remembers the red of his umbrella and the rush that she had been in, and wonders if maybe it wasn’t just a coincidence for her to bump into in on that day. 

Maybe.

iii.  
They come to a silent little pact, a little agreement that they lay down in cold dust with a touch of their fingers together before they put on one last act, one last little show together.

(The dynamic duo, the Nightmare King and his Warrior Queen) 

“Oi, Sandman! Think you want to see this – he’s about to bite the dust.” Tooth calls out, moving away slowly as Pitch smiles and winks at her and she schools her features into that of nervousness, playing up the ‘woe is me’ damsel in distress and she hopes that this works. 

It’s a one shot ticket but if they can play by chance then – 

Maybe, just maybe, they’ll get out and alive.

Maybe.

She hears the ratta tap tap of his cane against the floorboards and his gun being pointed at her as he waddles on back into the room, a grin on his face as he sees Pitch roll over onto his side and let out a hiss, and there’s quite a bit of blood that soaks through as he convulses on the floor and she hopes, that this is just a act ,that they can beat the poison. 

“Oh why now , he looks great! And just in time too. I’d say he has oh, a minute or so! At least, if he doesn’t die from the poison I’ll just lodge a bullet in his head!” Sandy laughs, moving the gun from Tooth’s direction to that of Pitch’s and she thinks that she should sit and wait, but time’s not on their side.

And so she moves, knife gleaming from the shadows as she slips it into her her hand and it’s an old familiar friend and she moves and side steps along the silent floorboards, and lunges forward.

The gun goes off, bullet ricocheting off the wood and landing who knows where and it’s a mess of limbs as she tries to pin him down, tries not to crush the general area where the antidote is, and there’s a knife pressed to his throat and a gun aimed at her head and he hisses , blood trickling down his nose and staining his perfectly good clothes a dark red.

“You’ll pay for that little stain, birdy.”

“Fair trade – the antidote for Pitch and in return you can lodge a bullet through my head, Sandman.” 

He smiles before motioning to her where it is, and she takes it out of the inner pocket, tosses it to Pitch who had in the mean time, stopped convulsing and managed to sit up, before hesitating to take it.

“Tooth – “ 

“It’s been fun, Nightmare King.”

She smiles, and there’s a _bang_ .


	18. Tell Me What the Rain Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a inky darkness and sweet velvet dreams and blood on the floorboards but somehow, they live.

i.

She had expected it to hurt, expected a bullet through her head. 

Expected some sort of theatrics, like how they would show in the cinemas, in the black and white movies of silence and glam.

She’d felt like laughing, a hysterical laughter because she had a hunch, that she’d be dead on the floor in a matter of seconds, once she saw his finger move and pull the trigger.

Except he wasn’t fast enough.

“Really now, Sandman? I figured you were off the grid and dead in a ditch somewhere, not trapezeing around old abandoned parlours like a loony.” 

A man’s voice had said, carrying over the floorboards and making the dust move and sway, and it was said in strong and mocking and terribly familiar sort of way that very few people would recognize.

Tooth, however, knew who it was the instant she had heard the words greet her ears.

She didn’t notice the pain in her shoulder, not until she had opened her eyes and tried to move, and there was a stinging pain, as if someone had dug a knife into her shoulder.

There was blood staining her dress – and it was her dress that seemed to cascade onto the floor, little droplets of blood that splattered here or there and it hurt, it stung and burned but she gritted her teeth and watched for who she had to thank for saving her life for. 

She was surprised, when a familiar pair of glasses came shimmering down at her as one E. Aster Bunnymund bobbed his head in a ‘hello’ towards her and she couldn’t help but laugh and it hurts, it hurts because her bones feel like they’re burning and she’s on the old floorboards, dust seeping read blood onto the floorboards and it hurts.

“You’re under arrest, Sandman.”

Is all that he says, before pulling the trigger and lodging a bullet into Sanderson’s forehead.

And soon enough, the nightmare’s over. 

Or so she thinks it is.

She vaguely hears the sound of footsteps before the darkness sweeps over her and it’s a warm velvet hum that wraps itself around her head and she falls asleep to the inky darkness

And maybe, she thinks she’ll rest her tired bones here. 

ii.

It was easy, keeping track of Tooth – she wasn’t as secretive as she thought she was, and having allies in unknown territory made things easier.

(He had gotten Jack Frost out of some trouble with the cops by pulling a few strings in the department, knew North since they were kids and his family would travel from time to time. And they grew to be as thick as thieves, the three of them. 

Somehow, it just worked out that way.) 

It had been years since he had kept an eye out for the mysterious Sandman, although it seemed as though the sand got to his head and warped him into something nightmare-ish and quite frankly, disturbing.

They had orders from the higher ups to take him either dead or alive.

Given the circumstances, they had to neutralize him – and a bullet to the head was the first thing that he had done. 

(So maybe E. Aster Bunnymund was a little too trigger – happy. But wasn’t everyone at some point in their lives?) 

Still, he had put away the gun and had motioned for Jack to go in and check on Pitch Black – who, he figured he’d let them go, old acquaintances, the whole shindig.

(It was either they got out with both of them or there would be one less body to carry tonight, if Jack couldn’t figure out what the hell was wrong with the man who seemed to be on his deathbed.) 

North was keeping guard – watching for any unconscious goons of Sandy to wake up and try to riddle them with bullets, while Bunnymund had kneeled near Toothiana and had gently moved her so that he could inspect the damage done. 

She feels someone jostling and moving her, and she opens her eyes blearily, blinks a few times before quietly rasping out – “Pitch, poison, pocket , Moony.” – and losing consciousness again.

“Tooth? Oi, Tooth! Wake up you ankle biter – you’re not dying on me, and definitely not from a stupid shoulder wound.” Bunnymund muttered, before tearing off a part of his shirt and wrapped it around the injury, gently picking her up before telling North to wait for Jack to fix up Pitch, and then they move on out. 

Jack had been a useful part of their little team – he had known the streets this way and out, and his little hoard of street rats helped keep an eye out on things.  
It was through them that they had received the signal that the Sandman was on the loose, that he was targeting one Nightmare King and that said Nightmare King had a dainty little female companion with him to be attending a gala. 

Or so, that’s what they thought originally and paid no attention to , but eventually something felt wrong, something that seemed to be cooking for far too long, like burnt pie served with whipped cream that has no flavor. 

iii.

Jack Frost, while certainly wasn’t certified in practicing medicine, certainly did know his way around the streets, and he was nimble and quick, which is why when Tooth had rasped out those four words he was already stone cold and calm, searching the dead corpse that was still quite warm for the antidote, to possibly save the man that seemed to be on his dying breaths if he wasn’t quick.

In quite a short time, he had managed to find the little tube with the antidote, and had proceeded to move and lean over Pitch, gently moving him upwards before letting the liquid pour into his mouth and enter his body.

He hadn’t expected Pitch to gradually close his eyes and fall into what would be a comatose state, but they figured if they hurried they’d be able to call it a case closed and no one would die.

Except for Sanderson and his cohorts. 

iv.

She wakes up and it is the soft lining of the bed sheets and linen duvet cover and the bustle of old tea kettles ratting around, and the smell of cinnamon and baked goods that hummed with a vibrancy from downstairs.

(Where am I?)

There is a muffled sound and she opens her eyes and blinks, and it is Jack Frost’s face that greets her, a simple smile as he says cheekily “Morning sleepyhead, have a nice rest? Pitch’s fine- he’s asleep. For now anyway.” 

She sits up and smiles and thinks that they’re safe, they’re in a home, perhaps, but they are in neutral , allied territory, and maybe they won’t be followed, won’t have blood on their hands, or throats or teeth.

Just maybe, they’d get out of this hellhole outside, or inside, or anywhere really.

She wanted to claw at her skin, but thought otherwise, perhaps, to wait, and think, and simmer and stew, and cry. 

And so, she did.

And the rain started to hum outside, pitter patter on a windowsill that no one opens or cares about.


	19. Who Are You Really?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something along the lines of _you're safe , you're safe_ that repeats in their minds as it is bandages and old mornings with blood on the bed sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, you can find me on tumblr@ chrysanthemumskies uwu!
> 
> _we're almost at the end guys ;A;!_
> 
> _buuuut don't worry, there's a little sequel to So They Met to be written up soon ;D_

i.

They had carried them out between the three of them, in the cold dead of the night after Sanderson was stone cold and Jack had run back to headquarters, to tell Old Man Moony about what had happened.

(Chief of the police corps and all, and a long time enemy of Sanderson Mansnoozie.

The rumors were that one time they had been the best of friends, growing up together, planning to make some big changes in old New York.

Seems like somewhere down the line, Sanderson fell through the cracks and into the sweet dream clutches of old opium. 

And Old Man Moony never quite forgave him for that, despite being the more diplomatic of the two of them. 

Or something like that.

There were other rumors too, that Old Man Moony once had a girl and Sanderson was jealous, so he murdered her and then ate the body.

Then again, you were betting your money on getting that sort of information from the local drunks and old timers, who claimed to have seen Moony perform some loco voodoo magic or something like that to track down Sanderson, who had disappeared off the grid and who had relocated to Europe.

Who knows. 

Maybe they had just had a really important argument over what to have for lunch one day, and had a disagreement as to what tastes better with salmon, and well, maybe there were some drugs involved. 

Don’t take it from the drunks, they’re just looking for some entertainment.

At least, that’s what Jack Frost had heard, from the grapevine. ) 

Moony had nodded and had gave the order to drop all charges against Pitch Black (and, by extension, Tooth as well) – something about how if it weren’t for the both of them, they would have never gotten the details or information that Sanderson was back in town, that he was out and about, targeting ‘reformed citizens’ and ultimately causing New York’s crime rate to sky rocket what with his drug dealerships. 

It was with that news that Jack had returned to North’s speak easy slash motel just as North had come down the long flight of stairs and had wiped the blood from his hands and had clasped Jack on the back with a big booming laugh, saying that they were alright.

“Bunny’s tending to them. They won’t die.” North chuckles, as he goes around the front desk and fiddles around with the hidden flaps and cabinets that he had designed and built into the desk, pulling out a bottle of whiskey. 

“For the nerves.” He says, as he brings out three shot glasses and fills them up halfway , sliding one over to Jack.

“You _know_ I don’t drink, North.”

“Oh come on, even you have nerves all jittery. I feel it. _In my belly_.”

“That’s just odd and you know it.”

“My belly never lies. Now , _drink_.”

“You sure I don’t need to check up on them? Tooth seemed to be a bit down and out when we got there. And there was a ton of shattered glass in the adjacent room.”

“Sandy was a bit of a lunatic, even at his age. He used to be good man, and look where the opium got him. She’ll be fine. Tooth’s a strong girl. She used to help me out from time to time, there’s more to her than just a pretty face.” 

“You don’t say.”

“You met her Jack, you should know.”

“Huh. I guess so, yeah. Although I didn’t think Pitch Black of all people would be _her_ employer.”

“ _Partner._ Tooth doesn’t work for anyone, only herself. “ 

“ _Right._ ”

”The last guy who tried any funny business with her got a _knife_ to his fat pig _throat._ ”

“You seem to be very proud of that.”

“Well of course! I taught her how to handle guys like that.”

“Good to know, North. Good to know.” 

They share a smile and drink, while the clock strikes midnight and Bunnymund comes down, wiping his glasses with a bloodied rag.

“They’re fine. They’ll live, anyway. And then I’m going to bite their heads off for being so stupid and running into that idiot like a pair of dingbats with no plant at all” He grumbles, rubbing the bridge of his nose before downing the shot of whiskey like a dying man. 

“No plan? Then they’re either really stupid, smart, or just have luck on their side” Jack mutters, eyes wide in awe.

“Yeah well, they’re gonna have a rough morning. So make sure Tooth doesn’t have any of those throwing knife things – she might take your head off.” Bunnymund mutters, before moving away to plop down on the nearest sofa, and fall asleep, dead to the world.

And that’s what Jack and North did, shortly after. 

And then there was the ticking of the clock and snores all around, but for now, the night was quiet and watched over them in the inky darkness while the moon shined down outside on the cobblestones. 

ii. 

 

When she wakes, she feels as if she had drunk far too many drinks and had gotten knocked over the head, while a pack of horses had trampled her chest and rib cage and other parts of her body.

(She wasn’t even sure if horses came in packs, or if that was just her head talking nonsense after what had happened)

It felt surreal, almost.

Like a bad, opium laced dream. That left a tangible, terrible aftertaste in her mouth that no perfume or mints could wash out. 

The sun’s far too bright as it shines down on her face, and she rolls off the makeshift bed that North and Bunnymund had made for her and Pitch while Jack had ran to tell the Old Man who was in charge of them as to what the hell had happened in that old parlour out in the streets. 

She doesn’t notice that she eventually rolls off the bed, until she hits the floor and lets out a yelp and a hiss as she hits her shoulder, and it _hurts_ \-- but the other person in the room seems to be dead to the world, as he doesn’t even flinch or make any movement. 

“Ow. Ow. Ow. “ she mutters, cursing under her breath as she moves and sits up, counting to ten before taking a deep breath and telling herself that she can get up and move , and it’s okay, she’s okay. 

iii.

Pitch drifts in and out of consciousness. 

There’s something that burns in his chest, as if he has a fever that he can’t sweat out that burns him up from the inside, burns his lungs and he can’t really breath, but he tries because he needs to swim out of this inky murky blackness that is set out to drown him in his sleep.

At the fray edges of his mind he can sense and hear someone moving around, something falling with a dull ‘thud’ and a familiar voice drifts in and out of his conscious understanding – something about cussing and maybe the word ‘Ow’ dancing along the edges and he wants to wake up, wants to get up and see how Tooth is – because he doesn’t quite know if he’s dead, or if she’s dead, or if they’re both dead and this is some kooky after life shenanigans going on in his mind right now, or if he even exists on a plane of existence or some complicated scientific explanation is in store for him from some odd entity or if the antidote worked.

 

He makes himself open his eyes, and finds everything odd – as if there is a screen, in front of his eyes, but maybe it’s because he hasn’t opened them fully yet, or maybe he’s far too sleepy and tired from what had happened last night. 

Still, he sits up, and runs a hand through his hair, muttering quietly – “Tooth?” 

She perks up immediately, laughing quietly and maybe there are tears in her eyes -- _since when did she start to tear up over the most trival of things_ \- and she makes her way over to where he is, touches his hands gently and he moves at the sound of her laughter, a quiet , tired laugh dances along his lips. 

 

“Well, look at us now, banged up and bruised but we’re alive.” She mutters, leaning closer and he smiles , closing his eyes and letting his arms wrap around her.

“Yes, we’re alive.” Is all that he says, before moving in to press a kiss to her lips.

iv.

He realizes, halfway, that there is a blurred vision, that he can’t see things as clearly as he could, once, before.

That there are small little burn marks that surround the skin his eyes, that there’s a tremble in his hands, it’s faint, and it’s nothing like how his hands were trembling the night before, but there is a tremble, and Pitch Black is afraid, is nervous.

“Tooth. . . ?”

 

”Mm? What is it, Pitch?”

“I can’t – I can’t _see_ you.” 

There are blood on the bed sheets and a tremor that wracks his body as he leans in and he doesn’t care if she thinks him less of it, but he cries, and she holds him, and she mutters quietly, arms willow and strong and far too perfect – 

_It’ll be alright, it’ll be alright._

_I’m here._

_I’m here._

_You’re not alone._


	20. I'll Be Seeing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They stay like that, curled up in their little room while the cobblestones outside turn wet from the rain and there's a tired sigh that wrestles itself from their lips but they're alive, for the most part, even if there's just anger boiling underneath their skin. 
> 
> Or, the rain washes it away, and tells them to rebuild slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chrysanthemumskies over @tumblr uwu 
> 
> lyrics used : I'll Be Seeing You by Billie Holiday

i.

They stay like that for a while, while the rest of the city slowly rises from the dead induced exhausted sort of slumber , they stayed curled up on the bed, not speaking, not saying a word, just listening to their breaths.

(You are alive. ) 

 

Toothiana wonders if she should say anything, if she should break the silence, maybe try to breach the walls that Pitch had slowly, gradually, put up between them.

There were no physical walls – save for their clothes that they were too lazy to get out of, too drained to even bother with – between them, but yet it felt like as if they were on different continents. 

 

Still, it wasn’t to say that she didn’t feel a small shiver run down her spine when Pitch had moved from resting his head against the crook of her neck while she leaned against the headboard of the bed – to gently nuzzle the skin there and leave her with warm butterfly kisses.

She didn’t say anything, just smiled quietly and hum a little under her breath.

“I’m sorry” 

Is all that he says, before moving out of her arms and sitting up, letting the dark stormy clouds rumble as the thunder set in. 

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Pitch.” 

Sometimes, he thinks he does have to apologize.

For every little thing, for the minute that he had stepped foot and crashed into her life, or – was it really the other way around?

He doesn’t remember, he’s far too tired, and he’d like to sleep, forever.

(But then he thinks, that Tooth makes him happy, in the small things that she does – how she gets frustrated with the books if they’re kept track of the wrong way ,or if they’re not in an exact alphabetical order, or how sometimes she’d smack the cash bank for not working properly, or huff and laugh at the various books he sometimes got shipped in to the shop.) 

And maybe sometimes he thinks that they’d make things better for each other.

ii.

There’s something like the drum song of a swallow or the song birds that fly around in the park, when they finally leave North’s motel with a debt behind them, and walk along the cobblestones – broken and bruised and healing and a bit battered but they’re fine, they’re alright. 

They’re alive. 

(Even though North laughs and tells them that it’s alright, that they’ve done more than enough to even need to repay him in any sort of way, but if they got any sort of Russian novels to save him a few copies, and Pitch nods and says ‘Of course’ and that’s the end of that deal.

Even though Bunnymund tells Pitch to stick to laying low and not moving a muscle and to stay off his feet or else he’ll find out and personally tie him up to the bed to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.

(Even though Tooth laughs and winks at Bunnymund and tells him “Wouldn’t you like to do that?” which earns her a glare and a smack on the head but it’s affectionate bantering and it’s a warm thing, that bubbles in her heart, to know that her old friend is back and alive.) 

Even though Jack Frost seems to have taken a liking to both of them, and can’t stop staring at them, even with Pitch growling at him to knock it off, he only smiles at them and tells them if they ever need a tour guide, to just give him a whistle.) 

And that’s how they went, arm in arm, slowly but surely.

They sit in the park, clouds slowly drifting by and there’s a rain that starts to pour down on them and they laugh like little kids as they hold hands and try to run, only to end up hobbling off to their little home , soaked to the bone with kisses every here and there. 

iii.

The shop seems to be waiting for them, like a obedient pet that’s kept watch , waiting for the master to return.

The bells on the door seem to have chimed a bit more brightly, more loudly this time around. 

“How do you feel, Pitch?” 

“Fine, actually. I think, I can see you better now – it’s just a bit fuzzy, but I guess nothing like a pair of glasses to fix it up hm?” 

Tooth can only mutter about how he’ll look like an old professor, but shrugs and goes off to retrieve the pair of glasses that he kept behind the counter where the cash was stowed away. 

He knows his shop well enough to navigate his way around, and waits as Tooth sits on the counter top and pulls him close .

“You’re going to break the poor counter.”

“Are you implying that I gained weight, Pitch?”

“What? No! Just that this thing is old as the shop itself, and let me tell you the shop is quite old, Tooth.”

“Well, it’s fine now. Besides, you look like a blind bat without these on.”

“How charming.”

She chuckles and slides the glasses onto his face, and he blinks – once, twice, as his eyes adjust and he can see her clearly, for now that is. 

“Oh I almost forgot – “ he says, before leaning closer and kissing her soundly on the mouth.

“I _almost_ forgot to pay you Tooth. I’m _quite_ \- a kiss - _terribly_ \- a bite on the lips - _sorry_ \- he feels her shiver and grins like a cat – _about that _”__

__And that’s how it was, for that day._ _

__The shop was closed, and the rain poured down , and they didn’t mind it, not at all._ _

__iv._ _

__

__She thinks that in a earlier point in her life she would have took his money and ran, told him to bugger on off, punch and bruise his pretty little face up and would have ran across the country to start again._ _

__That would be, maybe, in another life._ _

__They had met on a rainy day, on the corner of Madison and Fifth._ _

__She thinks that she wouldn’t have it any other way ._ _

__

__They met on the corner of Madison and Fifth – and he had found a home in their little shop, in her smiles and kisses and smacks on the head (even those)._ _

__They had met on the corner of Madison and Fifth – the hummingbird and the crow._ _

__

__And everything was alright, with the cobblestones humming about on the corner Madison and Fifth, and the music drifting through the shop windows._ _

___ _

I'll be seeing you  
In every lovely summer's day  
In everything that's light and gay  
I'll always think of you that way

I'll find you in the morning sun  
And when the night is new  
I'll be looking at the moon  
But I'll be seeing you


End file.
